Nothing to lose
by MariaaB
Summary: Annie Cresta's story beginning with the Reaping day for the 70th Annual Hunger Games.
1. Prologue

Author's note: Before you begin reading this story (for which I am eternally grateful) I feel obliged to warn you that English is not my first language and it is far from perfect. However, I hope you will enjoy the words and sentences as poor as some of them might be. Thank you.

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Prologue

Sometimes I wonder if there's anyone—beside most of the families in all twelve districts, that is—who'd care. I'm not exactly convinced that even those care truly anymore and that was something I've always strongly believed in. Because, as I stand here with a clear view of everyone, all I see is expressions of relief. I instantly know what's going through each and every one of their heads. _It's not me, it's not me, it's not me._ Guilt mixed with relief on the faces of those who know me. I was exactly the same when I was standing among them. But this time I'm not, and this time different thoughts wander through my brain. _It is me_, I think and I'm certain this is not a dream. But then again, it wouldn't be much of a dream, would it? A most horrible, heartbreaking, life-sucking nightmare is what it would be, what it is. And, I know my nightmares as well as I know my sister's best efforts to lie. Her eyes slip slowly down my face, all the way to my feet and hurry back up to stare at mine without blinking. I've seen this day in my nightmares too many times. The truth slides through me just like my sister's eyes do. At the point when it stares right in my eyes, I know that it's over. My world's over. I wake up screaming.

This time the screaming is real. My family screams for me and my thoughts scream even louder. A tear rolls all the way to my mouth and I realize my jaw is dropped, but I'm not even breathing. My heart is beating to its maximum and I feel like my chest is going to explode any minute now.

Who could have known that out of hundreds, thousands other kids it'd be me the one who was going to get picked? I feel like I should have known better, I should have mentally prepared myself for this moment. A silly kid, I am, for thinking that the odds are always in my favor. I am seventeen, true, and my name's written down a few more times than the names of other younger kids, but I haven't once signed up for tesserae. That hurricane when I was seven, in a boat with a dozen other kids, I survived it and only two of the others did. I didn't drown that time either when my father's fishing net caught my leg and dragged all the way to the bottom of the sea, keeping me down under for more than five minutes. I am my father's good luck charm. I am the girl all my friends come to for advice as they claim it never fails them. The girl who made it without a scratch when she jumped in front of three bikes to save an injured bird. The one who is teased to hold all the luck in the world.

But I guess it has left me this time. The odds are no longer in my favor.

I hope my it's passed onto someone good. It has definitely left me now, when I most need it. Or maybe—_probably—_I am much too naive to believe my mother's words that it's never going to be me, it's never going to be my sister. I did get a few hours sleep last night because of that conviction, didn't I?

But nothing in the past seem to matter much now as my eyes can't seem to focus on anything. I'm sweating like crazy. My ears don't register the name of the male tribute. Many images appear in my head, like my mother and sister screaming and crying as they watch me die, my father feeling so helpless. A voice yells at me, blaming me for putting them in pain and then I get angry and the next thing I know I'm taking down mental notes, making plans how I'd beg the Capitol to allow my family to turn off the television so they wouldn't have to see me die, begging someone, something to help me snap out of all this, begging my mind to let this just be another dream.

It isn't, and now I'm being escorted by a small woman to a building I have seen many times but cannot remember what we call it. All too soon I am sitting on a chair between four brightly colored walls, feeling more trapped than ever. The painful realization reminds me that I really am. I begin to scream, my eyes are shut and don't stop until someone embraces me. I can't tell how long that lasts but I finally hear my mother say my name.

"Annie," she tries again and this time it is barely a whisper. "My little, sweet Annie."

I pull back only to see tears all over her beautiful, angelic face. I stare in her eyes and my focus is becoming better, despite the fact that my muscles are tense from keeping my eyes open so widely. For some reason I try to memorize every detail of them as a part of me suddenly becomes aware that I will probably never them again.

Somehow my voice strings don't fail me and I manage to whisper, "Why me?"

A cry comes from behind my mother and I make out my sister and father. They both walk closer to me at the same time and hug me tightly. My sister whispers something I can't understand and they all pull away all too soon.

Why do I have this urge to blame my mother for lying to me? My father for assuring me that nothing bad will happen to me as long as he is there? Everyone I know for telling me I shine with luck and it will never, ever fail me? Why? Why did I rely on all of that so strongly ever since my name, and later my sister's was entered in that big, glass bowl with slips of paper? Why didn't I allow the fear overtake me? If I did, I am sure, I wouldn't be breaking and cracking as I am now, I would have gone through all this while I was home, safe, with a chance to pull myself together. I should have known how big of a mistake pretending to be strong was.

"Do you remember what I told you this morning, Annie?" I hear my father say.

I nod with the smallest move. My thoughts scream, scream and I feel that if I move even a little bit more I'm going to crack.

"Tell me, Annie," he presses on, "Say what I told you."

I gulp and my breathing becomes faster. I can feel fresh tears on my cheekbones. "You are my good luck charm; you are my bravest little girl." I say at last. The words echo through the room as well as in my head and I start questioning the reality of all of this.

Everyone's eyes are locked on me. I can see the pain in all of them already and I start feeling like I'm going to throw up. Because, I am so helpless and I am not my father's brave girl. Not really. How can he say that? How can he lie about such a thing? I'm weak. I'm breaking. I'm losing it.

"You are not a little girl anymore, Annie," my mother's shaky voice claims. "You have to come back home to us."

There is such determination in her voice that scares me. I begin to shiver and my sister comes to hold me tightly again. She begins sobbing and suddenly the need to comfort her overwhelms me. I realize I can't do that this time and it hits me right in my chest. I can't protect my sister from feeling pain and neither can my parents because there is also no one who can protect them. I am causing the pain. I am the one that needs to be comforted in order to comfort.

I want to tell them that I love them so, so much and that they should all stop crying and worrying. I want to tell them that it will all be okay, but I know it won't. I can't lie to them. There is no possible scenario I can make up that would seem realistic enough with me making it out of the Hunger Games. No one, especially not me, can promise my family that I would be just fine without lying. And I am so terrible at lying.

No words seem to come out, my jaw simply hangs awkwardly.

"Listen to us, Annie," my mother is shaking my shoulders. "Fight. Don't you dare give up. Do you hear me? Promise me you will fight!"

As I don't react in any way my father also urges on. "You have to promise us, Annie." The calmness of his voice seems to be the only thing holding my screams back.

I look at him and analyze his expression carefully because I can't think of anything smarter to do. His lips are pursed into a thin line and a few of those have appeared on his forehead. I can tell he's trying to be brave for me, but his eyes are full of tears. Tears he would never let himself shed.

"Annie, are listening to us? We don't have much time."

My sister whispers in my hair. "Please," I can make it out clearly this time.

The tears are now flowing like a river and my vision is getting blurrier by the second, so I close my eyes. I try to take a deep breath and I make myself say it. "I promise."

A part of me is on fire. I hear even more voices in my head telling them to stop lying. Because, I have always known that I would never, ever, ever be able to kill anyone or watch anyone kill anyone without doing something about it, and my promise is so contradictory to everything I am and everything I've always believed in that it makes me sick in my stomach. It makes me ever sicker that I made a promise I can't keep and this is all I can think of.

Peacekeepers burst through the door and say something that sounds like, "You've stayed here too long."

Is that how long I get? It wasn't _long _at all.

I hear my family telling me they love me as they all hold on to me. But they have to leave and everything starts happening too quickly again. The last memory I have of them is they're telling me to keep my promise. It makes me so feel so guilty that I try to wipe it away.

"I'm sorry," I try to say out loud but I know that no one can hear me; the door is shut.

I stare at the walls and notice that there isn't a window anywhere, but everything is so bright that it makes it hard for me to focus on anything again. I need a window badly. I need fresh air. So, I stare blankly at the walls as if I could make them crash down that way, maybe escape somehow. It feels like I've been doing that and only that for hours, but it's probably been only a few minutes, and I'm more confused than ever.

I do know one thing for sure: I am not even near to doing something useful like making myself face and accept what has just happened.

Not to mention I haven't taken any notice to the cameras who will show everyone at the Capitol who I really am. Weak, weak, weak. Fragile.

Why do I always deny anything bad that happens? Why am I so convinced that the only way anything is acceptable is once I've done everything in my power to fix everything about it? How am I going to fix this one? I can't. The reality of that struck me like a thousand knives going through my body at once would. What am I doing!?

I am not sure if I'm screaming out loud or if it's all in my head.

The woman who read my name today walks in in the small room with a smile. I remember that her name is Glory Jores. "Come on sweetheart," she holds up her hand towards me. Her voice is very high pitched. "It's time to go to the Capitol!"

I slowly get up and let her lead the way. Her enthusiasm is obvious in her every step. She's wearing heels so high that I wonder how she still manages to be shorter than me, and I am definitely very small.

_Too small_, I think, and tears start streaming down my cheeks once again. The Capitol seems bigger than ever, at this moment, and I am just a small ant that's soon to be crushed among with twenty two other kids by the Hunger games. I stop feeling so confused and I'm almost positive I've started to face the reality of my situation. As I step into the train I think about how I didn't say goodbye properly to my family and how I can't possibly keep the promise I have just made to them. The last promise.

I realize that it doesn't matter if there's anyone at all who'd care; no one can do anything about what happens anyway.


	2. Beginnings are hard

Once I'm in the train everything becomes real. All my best efforts couldn't have managed to stop my tears as well as the view in front of me did. It doesn't seem at all like I'm actually in a train, more like a portable, moving house.

First, there is a hallway. A wide but long room shortly follows, lit perfectly by the daylight. Inside, there is a table that is big enough for at least ten people to be fit around it, very comfortably too. It is plastered to the metallic wall (which doesn't look metallic at all as it is painted with flowery designs) and is piled up with food in such a variety I did not know to exist. Cakes in so many colors, many neon for some weird reason, salads in kinds I can only assume to be salads, meat, fish, drinks in bottles of all sizes and shapes. Nearby is a smaller table for six. This one isn't piled up with food but plates and everything that should go with them is neatly and almost perfectly placed upon it.

As I walk forward I note that the carpet I'm stepping on is softer than my bed mattress and pillow. This is what I can easily imagine walking on clouds to be like. I see a three-seat sofa next where Glory guides me and my fellow tribute to sit and she promises to be back quickly.

Finally, I look at the boy, full with attention. I have seen him before. He is in my sister's year in school, I think, or maybe one year older. My sister is thirteen. As the odds I've been convinced to believe in don't seem too reliable at this point, I realize—maybe for the first time truly—that is could have easily been her sitting here in my place. The boy resembles her in many ways. He isn't very big or small. He has dark hair, eyes and tan. Very average for our district. I try to smile at him, that being what I always do, but he ignores my gaze. Eventually, I turn back to explore the room and it doesn't take long for me be certain that I have never been in a richer place.

My eyes travel to the windows. The image they provide is smudged as the train is moving too quickly. It's nearly funny how unnoticeable that is on the inside. I wish I could open it, or any other window for the matter, the air seems to get only heavier and heavier as each minute passes. The boy next to me starts shaking his leg nervously and all I want to do is hug him and promise that everything is going to be alright.

Can anything be, at this point?

I don't know what to think and yet I do, uncontrollably, and most of my thoughts don't seem to be making much sense. I keep on observing my surroundings up until two people join us in the room. One is Glory with the same smile from before plastered on her face and she has put an arm around an older woman. She doesn't seem too happy about it, though, so I can only assume it's a polite-somewhat-protective gesture.

The older woman I know. It's Mags, a victor in the games. I have never talked to her before but I've seen her in my district many times, on the television as well, of course. She is a kind old lady who always talks with a smile. Usually I catch her hugging little girls and boys and giving them some sweets. Surely, if she wasn't so pleasant I would have still known her. Everyone knows the victors, especially those from our district.

Mags stops in front of us and I see her sweet smile today. "Make a little room for me to sit between you, won't you dears?"

I move as far from the boy as possible and Mags slowly places herself next to me. We all fall quiet for the following few moments. Glory clears her throat. "Aren't you guys just so excited?" She squeals in her ridiculous Capitol accent and claps her hands. When I look at her I think she actually seems bored and sleepy, or maybe that's just what I want to see. How long has she been doing this, taking kids from their families to a gladiatorial fight? It doesn't seem like a very exciting job to me.

The boy simply glares at her and none of us says anything. Mags extends an arm around both of us and I can't help but smile, no matter how much of a heart-broken smile it is. We sit like that for a while in an awkward silence. I admit I am exceptionally relieved once Finnick Odair and Leena Dermia enter the room and spoke. It had been quiet for too long.

It's not that I mind the silence. Many times I sneak out in the middle of the night and make my way to the beach just so I can be alone. I have this habit of looking for shell until I find one and sit on the place where it used to lay. For some reason I feel safer knowing that such a fragile and beautiful thing as a shell has found shelter somewhere and I am there, borrowing it for a while, only to have some quiet thoughts to myself. I gaze at the stars and picture a world much better than the one we live in. I make sure to never let myself get too carried away, yes, but it is such a beautiful world I can't help but love with all my heart as if it were real. The silence doesn't seem right, now knowing that this boy and I are being sent to a place where we're going to fight for our lives. Shouldn't someone be saying something?

"I'm taking the boy," says Leena almost instantly after she takes a look at us.

Finnick laughs as he considers this. "Oh, come on, you didn't even give me a chance to say hi, let them fight over who's gonna get me.."

Leena rolls her eyes and walks lightly towards the table. She picks up a chair and places it to face us. Soon enough, she's sat and stares at us in disbelief. "Why can't I ever get a fighter?"

Mags and Finnick share a look and they're both grinning weirdly now. "Looking for someone to follow your footsteps, sugar?" Finnick says to Leena and touches her shoulder in what is probably supposed to be a charming manner. He picks up a second chair and sits next to Leena who has her eyes plastered on me.

I raise my eyebrows unintentionally and try to avoid her gaze.

"She's crying. You know how I'd rather throw up on her than be her mentor."

Should I be offended by this? Is crying that unnatural in such a situation as mine?

I don't dare to ask that soundly.

Finnick acted to be genuinely surprised at her words and faked a gasp. "Don't be mean, Leeny. If you want a hug, you can just say so." I am guessing that is also his supposed-to-be seductive voice.

She just kicks his stomach with her elbow in reply and takes this her cue to leave, muttering "Whatever."

Another few moments of silence fall in the atmosphere and we all take turns in looking at one another.

Leena Dermia won the Hunger games eleven or twelve years ago when she was my age. Obviously, she was a Career and a vicious killer. In the initial bloodbath she killed seven kids. Her games are the first ones I remember. I can't decide if that is because of the violence I witnessed or that a girl from our district won. Probably the latter. It's funny how things work.

"It seems," Finnick Odair begins loudly, "I have fallen into the hands of a girl, once again." He laughs a sets a pose that I translate to some expectation for us to join him. None of us does, however. "Annie, am I correct?" He continues in the most natural of manners.

I nod.

"How are you feeling, Annie?"

My eyes find his. His face has formed the same smirk I've seen many times on the television. A beautiful face it is, as everyone makes sure to add once his name is mentioned. He's even more handsome in person. I can't ignore that fact that I am looking at the boy whose hand works too harmonically with a trident to be acceptable and managed to kill innocent children. He charmed his way in the Capitol, being attractive as is, I am certain that played a big role in how the 65th Hunger Games ended. I want to scream, I want to ask him why, but at the same time I know, deep down, that it would be the wrong thing to do. So I just shrug and murmur, "How should I feel?"

Mags is now tapping her fingers on my shoulder until they get stuck in my long hair. She plays with it in circles and I finally break my eye contact with Finnick.

"And you, Jer, how are you feeling?"

The boy. It's Jer. Jer Adreky, I remember now, and I feel guilty for not recognizing him earlier. He and his older brother have come in our family shop for nets and ropes many times. I've never talked to him but his brother used to be really close to a friend of mine a while ago. I think he's only a year older than me. Jer can't be older than fourteen. Another kid in the arena. The same arena I will be in...

"Disappointed," Jer answers almost too quickly. I look at him as if to ask why, but my head spins back and faces the table.

Tears are wetting my face again. My brain refuses to find a way to block them.

I know why.

No matter how much we could have believed to be or not to be selected this year, or any year for the matter, we always hope it won't be us. That hope is built in every kid since birth and how can you not be disappointed? How can you not be angry at yourself, at your own odds, at your stupid luck?

"We should eat," Mags slurs, gesturing towards Finnick with her hand. He takes it the next moment and helps her up. I follow them quietly and take seat on the left from Mags. Glory is already on the table, quieter than ever, as far as ever goes for us.

Jer, however, remains motionless where he is and no one urges him on.

Finnick snaps his fingers and an Avox appears from the open door and hurries to the bigger table. He selects foods and serves all of our plates in an impressive speed. I do my best not to stare at him but I find it impossible. I've heard about them, the servants they call Avox, but I haven't ever seen one. All dressed in white and face splashed with powder, expressionless eyes and lips red like blood. I honestly doubt they get a choice in their clothing, but that doesn't change the fact this Avox standing in front of me could look any less scary.

Maybe he did something really bad and deserves to look so frightening, but I find that thought hard to believe.

Mags digs into her plate before anyone else has a chance to say anything. At home, before we eat, we all hold hands and speak shortly of how lucky we are to have food on our table.

We live well, unlike many in our district, thankfully to our little shop. I've seen wealthier people, though, and never felt any less fortunate than them in any way. I have everything I could ever possibly need. A beautiful family is what I have.

And that family is about to lose their Annie.

I stare at my plate and find it difficult to eat. My stomach turns at the very thought of food.

Finnick doesn't eat either. He's holding a white cup in his hand, sipping slowly from the hot substance in it the Avox just poured. He's looking at me and I am looking at him. "Is there anything you want to ask me, Annie?"

My initial answer would be shaking my head no, but I stop myself. There is something I want to ask.

Why me?

I wouldn't ask it really. I'd scream it at the top of my lungs until I'd get an answer. I'd cry and beg to know why I have to die, why my family has to see me having to die.

But I don't, so I just clear my throat and speak my second thought. "Can you help me?"

It's desperate. It's a cry. I want to take it back immediately until the words leave my lips. _Pull yourself together_, my thoughts cry. I know I should, I know I have to, but I also know I can't.

I'm Annie Cresta, I'm my father's little brave girl, my mother's sunshine, my sister's shoulder of support. All of that, and only a teenager. No, a kid, and one who has never been more scared and lonely or terrified. A sweet girl who could never in a million years win the games, but wants to desperately go home to her family. Not for her, no, because she is aware that someone has to go in the arena this year as well as every other year. She just doesn't want those who love her so deeply watching it.

"Of course I can," Finnick says nonchalantly. "I'm your mentor, aren't I?"

I shrug and sink down my chair.

"Would you like me to take you to your room, sweetheart?" Glory speaks up. I almost forgot she was in the room.

Appreciating the interruption before I start yelling around, I agree. I had no idea I was going to get a personal room in the train. Jer joins us and after a very short walk, Glory has taken us to another hallway. She tells me to enter a door and leads Jer further away. I open the door slowly and my first thought is about how colorful my room is. Many, many colors, like everything else, that my brain can't find a way to make them match one another.

I make small steps and take everything in. The bed is bigger than the one my parents own. There is a closet. When I open it, I conclude that all those clothes together could easily make a shop. There a television screen that hangs on the wall and a small table with snacks and drinks. On the furthest wall is another door. Behind it is a bathroom. It has a real shower in it. I walk in and stare at the mirror.

My eyes always turn dark green when I'm sad. They're puffy and red right now. My face is dry and pieces of my hair are plastered on it. I remove them slowly. I don't look like myself at all. I try my best to force a smile but it looks so oddly crooked that I have to turn away.

I walk back in the room and fall on the bed. Without even taking my clothes off I curl up in a ball and, being so tired, fall asleep immediately. At least then I don't feel too confused.

When I wake up its night and I am still all alone in the room. The earlier events seem years away and somehow, I feel more peaceful. I pick clothes from the closet that I find most bearable for human eyes, get dressed, wash my face and walk back to the room where we all sat before. Mags sleeps on the couch and Glory is watching the recaps from the previous years of Hunger Games. She seems to be enjoying it, but somehow still bored.

"Hi," I say and her head turns to me, greeting me with a nod.

"Come, come, sweetheart," she speaks, "everyone's missing the fun. Why don't you join me?"

I sit down next to her but I don't look at the television screen. Why would I? To have preview of what I will have to see first hand myself in a couple of weeks?

After a few minutes of intense watching, Glory turns again to face me. She informs me that it's three in the morning and in a few short hours we'll arrive at the Capitol.

Those few short hours are very uneventful. I struggle with my thoughts and eventually decide I should eat something. The table is still as full as ever anyway. I stare at it as if to decide which one of the substances in the plates isn't going to poison me. Everything looks so unnatural and unlike anything I've ever tasted. It makes me have a hard time believing that it is actually food. I'm halfway through a slice of bread when Jer joins us in the room. He does that quietly and sits next to me at the table. We eat in silence.

Mags wakes up at around five and only in an hour we're in Capitol. I was surprised to see so many people—colorful people—up so early, standing there, weird devices in their hands, all of them screaming, some jumping in excitement. There I am, staring out the window in amazement, Jer doing pretty much the same. I didn't even notice Finnick coming in, but he's behind me, his hand on my wrist telling me to follow him. I do that and Jer follows me and we walk out to see not only Glory, Leena and Mags already out but also hundreds more of people we couldn't make out through the window.

They're even louder outside.

We walk on a path the people create by stepping aside as two Peacekeepers tell them to. I'm sure my eyes are wide, my face reactionless, as I don't know what to do. Looking at Jer feels too much like looking in a mirror at the moment, so I turn my eyes to Leena and Finnick. She is as emotionless as I've ever seen her whereas Finnick is all smiles. The people are trying to touch us, screaming some words I can't understand because of their high pitch, but Jer and I don't have it nearly the way Finnick does. They are jumping and trying to grab whichever part of him, they're telling him they love him, blow kisses and throw flowers, some even look close to fainting at the very sight of him. He doesn't give any sign he finds this as weird as I, and maybe Jer does too, and he turns around and blows them kisses once he's out of their reach.

I think we don't walk more than three minutes in any case before we enter the tallest building I have ever seen. Inside, we're greeted by more people, slightly quieter this time. Glory squeals and begins hugging whoever is the closest to her. The victors stop by to say hi quickly while Jer and I stand aside awkwardly.

And I thought the train had a rich interior. What is it compared to this room I am in now? Too poor. There are objects I can't put a name to that sparkle and make the room look mesmerizing. The walls, so tall end with the ceiling which is also decorated with complicated designs I can't quite make out from down here. There is a fountain the middle of it. The floor is marble. Very clean, too, shiny even. The people dressed in many, many colors have their bodies reflected by it. They are all chattering and laughing and looking at us, no doubt commenting our figures and appearances.

What I want to do, having all this attention is to make them listen. To make them give me an answer. How could they all be so happy looking at us while they know we have families back home who have to watch us die?!

I am not charmed by the Capitol at all.

My face must show my horror because Finnick walks to me with his smirk I know too well and takes me and Jer to an elevator. Leena and Mags join in and we wait for a while for Glory to come. Once she does, they all wave and smile before the elevator door closes. I've never been in an elevator. I doubt there is one back in my district. The trip to the fourth floor is quick. Glory sighs in relief, muttering something like "We're finally here," and we all walk to different places as the room is so big.

"This is the dining hall!" says Glory, taking short, quick steps to a table. "Sit, sit!" She proposes and we all accept.

My eyes struggle to take everything in; it is all too much. Colors, colors, colors. That's the only thing I'm sure of to be true. Also, it doesn't take me much time to be certain that this floor may be at least three times the size of my house at home.

Finnick and Leena talk quietly, I notice when I sit down next to Jer. I decide it's about time to say something. I'm not sure what I should say, so I ask him how he taking all of this.

"Fine," is his short reply and I take the hint that he doesn't want to talk.

Maybe it's better that way. I should probably write him off, forget he exists. We will both probably die. Maybe he's going to be the one to kill me. I shake that thought away and order myself to stop thinking.

My attention turns to Finnick and Leena who have stopped talking and are clearly seeking for it.

"Do you have any strategies in mind?" Leena asks both of us.

Jer and I share a look and we both shake our heads no. Leena make a grimace as if our answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

"First of all, I need to ask you whether you want to work together or separately," Finnick asks while gesturing an Avox to poor him a drink. There are four of them around the table.

Neither Jer or I want to be the first to speak, it seems. Finally, as the silence starts to give me the chills, I say "It's all the same with me."

Jer looks me in the eyes quickly and he manages to give his first real smile since we were reaped. But then he says he wants to be trained alone and I feel let down. I know I shouldn't and I know it's better if we have our different strategies. I know that getting to know Jer would only hurt me more. But I don't know why my chest feels even emptier before.

"When do you want to start?" Finnick directs his question to me, now, sipping from his glass. It's filled with something blue.

I shrug. "Can we start now?"

He doesn't stand up until he's finished with his drink and once he does he tells me to follow him. We don't leave the room, but where we sit—on the biggest sofa I have ever seen—it's a place away by at least ten meters from the dining table, so it's just as well as a different room. Finnick sits too closely to me with his smirk plastered. "Tell me about yourself, Annie," he half-demands.

Is that going to help in any way? I don't seem to see it, but I don't exactly deny his request. "I don't have many skills, if that's what you want to know."

"But at least you have them, even if they aren't many," he presses on. He does have a point. "Tell me, what can you do?"

I gulp and take a deep breath. What c_an_ I do? My mind travels back home and I can almost see myself sitting next to my sister on the bench behind our shop, making nets with the usual knots and patterns. I tell him that, about my family's shop. He nods and I know I have to think of something else. "I'm not handy with weapons…" I start, but he cuts me off.

"You'll have training for that, don't worry. Can you do anything with a knife?"

I almost laugh at that. "I can cook," I wanted to make it sound like a question but it ended up sounding like a statement anyway.

Finnick does laugh at it. "Maybe you can make a feast for everyone at the Games!"

I can't decide whether he's mocking me or joking but I don't say anything. We fall silent for a few moments and I take a look at Jer and Leena. They're talking intensely. Mags and Glory have turned on another television screen and I wonder if Mags should be here as she isn't anyone's mentor. I ask Finnick why Mags is here.

"She's my mentor," he says with his smile like that is the most obvious thing in the world. Mentors having mentors is an unfamiliar concept to me, but I'm sure he doesn't mean it literally. I wonder if the floors for districts one and two are crowded as they have so many victors. But district four has two more victors and I haven't seen them at all today. I should try not to analyze too much.

"She's nice," I state and he nods in agreement.

"You are nice," he adds. "Loosen up, I'm not gonna bite you. You've barely said two words before I made you to. "

Finnick Odair is probably a person who always gets what he wants. If he isn't, he surely does manage to leave that impression. With his charming personality and flawless features I can see how easy that could be.

This time he gets what he wants. I talk. I begin telling him about my family and my promise to them. I start crying before I know it, but don't stop rambling. My memories are fresh, even from the events that happened so long ago and I tell him how none of us at home could ever be prepared for me or my sister entering the Hunger games. I told him how lucky everyone always assured me to be and how stupid I now feel for relying so much upon it. I told him about how scared I am and how much I hate all of this. I told him that I hate pretending to be strong when I'm not. Did I really need to do that? It seems pretty obvious to me, just the average feelings of a tribute."I can't hurt anyone," I finish off, not being able to say the word 'kill' out loud.

Finnick is a good listener, or he's good at pretending to be so. He's patient and nods politely and at the end he even wipes the tears from my cheeks.

"I understand," he says and I look at him in disbelief. How can he understand? He was just a boy in his Games and still found it in him to kill violently. He was a Career. A fighter. He can't possibly understand.

I look up and find his eyes trained on mine. "Trust me. I've been there too, you know. You change when you're in the arena," he tries to assure me.

I can't see how I would change that much to be able to kill somebody.

"You'll have to fight," he continues, "you made a promise to your parents. You have to at least do that."

I draw my head down and lay back on the sofa. It's so soft and cozy, I feel warmer immediately. The luxury they have provided us here in the Capitol, do all the citizens live this way? Do they all have all of this? Why don't we? We haven't even seen such beautiful places, not anywhere but the screen. Don't we deserve it? Is it that? We're good people. We work, we love, we help. Why are the districts treated so poorly in comparison with the Capitol? Why is the Capitol so drawn to power?

Why don't I understand anything?

But I do know that is not really beauty. Not for me, no. I like my district a thousand times more, not matter how perfect they've tried to make the Capitol be.

If Finnick ever felt the way I feel right now then he must have changed into a completely different person. He fits into all of this too perfectly.

My face meets the soft texture of the sofa and I begin to relax. My eyes are still watery but they don't leave Finnick's for a moment. I don't know what I see in his nor do I know what I should look for. Sadness. It mustn't be a joyful occasion getting another tribute that is probably going to die. Maybe regret too. Something else… I don't know, I can't make myself think anymore this time and I am thankful that the thoughts have stopped racing.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, Annie," Finnick says softly and he places his head on the sofa mimicking my position. "You're going to be okay."

Maybe he doesn't mean the okay I desperately want to be but it is good enough, what he has to offer, and I believe him.

I start to consider this but my thoughts start racing again. I close my eyes, running away from the world in front of me for a little while. I must have fallen asleep in that position because I am now waken up by Glory who is telling me it's time to go to my stylist and get prepared for the Opening Ceremony.

Against my expectation, I am greeted by four people and I somewhat stupidly ask whether they're all my stylists. The oldest of them laughs sweetly. "No, dear, I am your only stylist. This is your prep team!" She exclaims with such enthusiasm in her voice.

If only I'd known I'd have a prep team and what they'd do to me, maybe I would have done a little mental preparation of my own.

I am stripped naked and they start immediately with ripping off all the hair from my body. My legs, arms and whatnot scream in pain. I do not, whatever the case may be. By the end of it I'm nearly used to it. My skin feels like it's been sunburned, and that's a feeling I know too well, but once they spread a lotion all over it, it's fine. I didn't like the pain, but it did make me feel like I was a little bit closer to home. They cut about ten centimeters of my hair and right now are commenting about how long it still is. I feel the woman in my prep team, Mory, feels a little bit guilty for cutting it off without asking for my permission. But I don't mind too much, really, it's just hair. It's still very long just as they say.

My stylist, Reggie watches over every move the prep team makes, but that's all she does. I conclude she trusts them with their job. In the end, she seems satisfied and tells Foro—also from my prep team—to take me to her quarters in five minutes. He does that, but before the three of them jump around me in excitement, telling me how beautiful and sweet I am and how that's going to help me charm everyone with their help. To my surprise, what Reggie calls her quarters looks like a pretty normal room compared to all the rest I have seen today. It does, by any case, have clothes in every corner of it hanging on various things. But not as many colors as there are everything.

She pulls up a dress from her desk and tells me to put it on while she disappears to get something.

I take the time to look around, but there's not much more than clothes anywhere around. There is one wall covered entirely by mirrors at which I don't dare to look at until I have my dress on. My hair and make-up are done already. I turn around and face myself.

I look like a fish caught in a net.

Literally.

The dress begins with a base made out of what I could swear is real fish scale. Above it is a fishing net. It's as simple as that. Reggie returns with a hat to complete my outfit which makes my head now, too, look like a part of a fish. It all fits with my make-up and my wavy hair is the only thing that actually acknowledges the fact that I'm a human being.

Jer doesn't look much different. I smile politely and compliment Reggie's creativity even though my heart sinks a little bit. In the Games, it is true that the most attractive tributes actually attract most of the attention and get sponsors. I don't see how two fish could catch anyone's special attention. Maybe they'd get another net a tie it over our first one and make dramatic sounds and postures the Capitol people seem to be doing a lot.

Finnick notes the same out loud and I am thankful Reggie wasn't around when he said that because I don't want her to feel offended. Who am I, or Finnick for the matter, to question a stylist's creativity? I'm not from the Capitol anyway and I cannot possibly know what the audience would like best. My stylist and prep team are here to make me look pretty and that should help. Just like my mentor is here to help me. Didn't Finnick say it already that he will help me? I have to trust all of them given the fact that these people are all I have right now.

Mags makes herself known entering the hall we're at by stomping loudly and laughing at our costumes. "Back in my time, even then they lacked creativity. Don't you worry," she says the last bit to me, "you have a beautiful face as it is." Maybe she read my thoughts and worries somehow and I am too thankful for what she said. I smile to show that.

Finnick laughs in agreement, lowers his lips to Mags's face and charmingly places a kiss on her nose. He swirls around, and goes to talk to some people I don't know.

I'm starting to get nervous and sweaty again. For a moment I fear that my make-up will somehow leak down my costume and make it look even worse. But it's like everything on me is actually natural. When Jer and I get into the chariot numbered 4, Leena openly remarks that if we're too cowardly weak we should be replaced by read fish as it could go by unnoticed. It's the first time I hear Jer laugh since we got reaped. For some reason, I don't think Leena intended to be funny.

As the horses ride us forward my ears meet more deafening screams than any of those I heard today. The people are all cheering and applauding as they were when we got off the train. They seem so happy and excited, it makes me feel sick. I then try to block out every image and every sound of them the best I can because my stomach is honest in its threats to throw all the food out.

Despite my biggest attempts to do so, I fail and those twenty minutes the Ceremony lasts feel like hours. Screams, screams, screams, all coming from a rich exterior - that's all I see. My relief is unimaginably big the moment I step out of the carriage. But then, I feel like it wouldn't take much for me to faint so I grip Jer's arm tightly and beg him quietly not to let me go. He isn't too happy about it but he doesn't protest.

Soon enough, Finnick comes around and takes me up to my room on the fourth floor. He is telling me something I cannot recall but once he put me under the bed sheets, I fall asleep in a split second. Whichever way it could be, that doesn't last long. I lay on my back, awake, facing the ceiling, still in my costume. It takes me minutes to convince myself to shower and get rid of all the sticky make up. It takes me a long time to succeed in that for which I am thankful. Because, once I am done, I have nothing to do for hours. Not even tears come anymore. This is truly a horrible and confusing day.

I lay awake and wait for the day which is one of the few I have left. I realize it's about time I try to make the most of it.


	3. Impressions

I have been pacing around the huge room, sitting down every now and then, first on the bed, then I'd lose comfort and decide to sit down on the soft carpet. I get up and continue pacing but get tired of that as well, so again I begin searching for different places to sit down. This is starting to become somewhat of a routine for me these last few night hours. Every now and then I even get fed up with all the sitting a walking and start moving the furniture around. The round table that has a single vase on it goes first. It took me more than five minutes to get it from one end of the room to another. I know that because I never fail to stay put for five minutes without glancing up at the large wooden clock that's hangs just above the bed. I feel like I'm pleading for it to tick the time slower and faster at the same time. I can't make up my mind.

Staring at the round table, I decide that I've found the right place for it, but, the vase is a little too colorful for it's magenta background the wall has provided. I lift it up and turn to find a more suitable place for it. The nightstand is my first consideration, but it already has a vase. And that vase is no flower vase. There is a short closet next to a tall one, but once I get closer to it I realize it's oddly narrow. I place it by the window, but as the weak sunlight passes through it's colorful texture it reflects in a few different spots in the room in more colors which bothers me. I lift it up once again and realize I'm running out of places to put it. The floor? But it could never stand there steadily as the carpet is so soft. It upsets me that I can't find a proper place for it as I've taken my mission with the utmost importance. My palms get sweaty which causes the vase to slip from them. Why can't it fit in here? Understanding what has happened in that split second is something I find very difficult and it's all clear to me what I've done once it lands on the floor with a loud smash.

Everything seems to be slipping out of my hands and I have no control over it whatsoever. I panic as I kneel down the floor and start hastily picking up the pieces. What am I going to do? My hands tremble and my thoughts sprint through my head, blaming me for doing something so unthinkable, being so irresponsible. Soon, I have too many pieces in my hands and I can't pick any more up and I think I'm about to start crying once I drop them all over again. The sharpest of them finds it's way to the back of my hand and cuts a few centimeters. It doesn't start bleeding until a few seconds pass, and whatever the reason may be, this is what reminds me that I have to start pulling myself together.

The door opens and an Avox walks in and gets to the mess I've made without making any eye contact. She has black hair tied fast to her head, but other than that looks almost the same as the Avox from the train. She puts the pieces into a plastic bag. I question myself how she knew what happened. Are there cameras installed in my room? Maybe she just heard the smash. I notice her eyeing my wound and my other hand instinctively covers it. She looks away quickly and gets back to her job. I extend my arm to help her out, but then she grabs the last few pieces at once before I get the chance. I want to thank her, to apologize, but I can't find my words. She's gone in a few moments anyway.

I sit in my position for what the clock has ticked to be four minutes. What did just happen?

Once seven o'clock strikes I make myself leave the room. The daylight is more obvious in the sitting part of the main room. The disturbing thought I get is that the sofa's from last night have somehow changed the color, but before I take this thought too seriously I convince myself that my memory must be fooling me or it just looks different in the daylight. How can possibly pink turn into green otherwise? After a short pause to stand and look around, then make my way to the window. The grandest grand view unravels in front of me and I can't do much about my wide eyes.

The bits I saw of the Capitol on the Opening Ceremony yesterday remain just bits in my head. I see buildings, monumental decorations, decorative trees, fountains, vehicles and things I can't put a name to, creating an enormous picture that looks so unreal that for a moment I am sure it is just a painting. But it isn't, and it's not long before I spot people walking the sidewalks wearing their colors. Their clothes, their hairs, each painted differently and if joined together they would form the complete specter of colors with all their possible shades. Almost ironically, my attention goes to a woman with very long straight hair dyed to look like the rainbow. I try not to laugh at the view.

I don't get a chance to do so either as I am distracted by the sound Glory's footsteps make as she enters the room. "Good morning!" her squeaky voice announces. I open my mouth to reply but she's faster. "I didn't except you, or, well, anyone to be up so early! Did you have a good night sleep?"

Once again, my answer is too slow for her and she makes one herself. "I sure did, what lovely mattresses they've brought this year! Last year was horrible; I don't think I'll ever understand the point of those water mattresses that were so popular."

Not that I have any idea what is she referring to, I let my lips form a smile as I'm unsure that I could get a chance to reply this time all the same.

Glory, in her quick steps, makes her way to the dining table and as she sits down she seems to be considering something. "I'm hoping to find Biscuits and Peppered Sausage Gravy on the menu today. Where is that anyway? It's always on the dining table."

This time I don't think I could think for a suitable comment as it is, even if I tried hard to do so.

The same Avox girl from earlier hurries to hand her what looks like a big, fat book with black leather covers. Without even thanking her, Glory yanks it from her hands and starts looking through it frantically. This is unlike the Glory I was introduced to yesterday, the woman who looked almost bored with everything, faking excitement when needed. Maybe she just needed that good night sleep after all, I decide.

"What do you want to eat, sugar?" she asks me, and as I look into her eyes I note that she blinks much more often than I do.

Usually, my breakfast consists sharing a loaf of bread with my family and little slices of cheese. My mother's favorite food is cheese. My father makes sure to include some of the fish no one wants to buy. He fishes in the early mornings and visits the fish shop to sell what he's caught. I wonder for a moment if they have that here, but then feel stupid for wondering at all as they seem to have everything.

"I'm good with anything," I say as I begin walking towards the dining table myself.

"Here, here," she hands me the black book once I'm near enough. Surprisingly, it's much lighter that it looked to be. "Pick whatever you want, I know what I'm having anyway."

I list through the pages, maybe even too carefully. They're all written all over with tiny letters spelling out names of food I don't recognize at all. Maybe a minute passes when I conclude that I'll never be able to read all of it. So I decide to pick whatever falls in my eye first.

"I'll have Tater Tot Bacon Egg Breakfast Bake, please."

Glory raises her eyebrows but doesn't keep them up long enough, which gives me the impression it was not for me to notice. Did I pronounce some of the words wrong?

It is a matter of moments what it takes for the Avox to get us the food. It looks like it materialized, or simply came from a logical place I cannot see. She places the plate in front of me. Once I note the smell my stomach grumbles in response and I realize I haven't eaten much anything for maybe twenty four hours as I slept through lunch yesterday and the Opening Ceremony happened during the dinner time.

"Well, dig in," Glory's voice reminds me that I've been staring at the food for some time now.

I do as she says. After the first bite I am a hundred percent sure I have never eaten anything that tastes like this. Out of the ingredients, I only recognize the taste of eggs but I like everything else just the same. I feel full before I've finished eating all of it, but I continue eating feeling that it'd be rude to just leave it like that.

Finnick and Mags enter the room just then. "You two just couldn't wait a few more minutes for us, could you?"

He is right and it makes me feel guilty for not considering this. Glory either reads my mind or sees my thoughts in my expression and says, "Don't worry, sugar, he says that every years but he always eats in his room alone."

Finnick eyes widen with fake surprise and he acts offended. "I do not," he says and at this point, both him and Mags are already sitting by the table. Glory shoots him a look. "Fine, I do, but not always! You'll see," he points at me, "I'll prove you she's wrong."

I laugh at this and he seems satisfied.

"Plus, I wasn't alone. My faithful companion Mags shares my room as you all know it."

I didn't know that, but I don't say anything about it. Mags is looking at me with a smile. "Did you like your breakfast, dear?"

I nod, but then change my mind thinking that I shouldn't save my words. "Yes, it was very tasty."

"Look at that," Finnick chuckles, "Annie liked her breakfast and she cares to tell us."

I recall what he told me yesterday, that I don't talk much, so I know exactly what he's referring to. "Just because I don't do it too often, doesn't mean that I_ can't_ speak," I state obviously. But I guess that's something too.

"Sure you can," says Glory. "Where's Leena and the boy?"

The change of subject doesn't surprise me much as the previous was kind of pointless.

"You know it well that Leena wont be up before ten in any case scenario," smirks Finnick.

"Not everyone has so much energy left after a whole night of _meeting_ people," notes Glory quietly in a somewhat-of-a discreet tone.

Finnick's smirk disappears for a second but it doesn't take much for it to come back. "Annie, you have to be down the Training Center at ten. Do you want another plate before we begin talking strategies?"

We all ignore Glory's comment.

I shake my head no and place my hand on my stomach. "I don't think I can fit in me any more food," I say.

But, he doesn't pay much attention to my remark. He's eyes notice something else.

"What happened to your hand?"

My eyes find the scratch from before I almost forgot about. The blood's dark now that it's dry. "Nothing," I mumble and take a quick look at the Avox girl. She's as expressionless as ever.

"Let me take a look," Finnick insists and reaches for my hand.

"It's nothing, really," I say shyly, but I let him touch it anyway. His hand is soft and warm.

I look at him in the eyes and find his eyebrows joined closely. "Nothing serious, but we should clean that up before you end up with an infection. You never know what's in the air these days."

Not that I fully understand what he is saying, I still get up when he does and follow him to a place of the room that has a small closet with medical supplies. He tears a piece of cotton and soaks it with some green liquid. Once it comes to contact with my hand it stings a little, but that's over soon enough. I watch Finnick carefully. He has taken what he's going very seriously, or maybe just acts that way to intimate me. His eyes never change focus. Before he's completely finished, he licks his lower lip. I don't know why, but at that moment I think of my uncle who sticks his tongue out when he's focusing on something.

"It's good now," he says with a triumphal smile. "We don't want you getting hurt before you actually get in the arena." He touches my face which doesn't last more than a few seconds and gestures me with his hand to follow him.

I wonder if he does that to every female he talks to as it seems like an action of habit.

We walk to the same place where we sat yesterday and I can swear the sofas have turned a shade lighter. Finnick sits down first, pops one leg on another whereas I sit as if I'm trying to take up as little place as possible.

"So, strategies," he starts, clearing his throat. "You've already got the sweet, emotional girl card playing just fine. When I was in the games I joined the Careers as it is obviously the best choice one should make when entering that arena. Now, I'm not saying it's impossible for you to that as well, you should try it today in training, but I'm not gonna promise you anything."

I nod, swallowing every word he is saying.

"I was thinking yesterday, maybe it's best you start with knives today. You'll meet experts in all the areas down the center. You'll be in good hands," he says that with a certain tone of importance in his voice. Do I seem that weak and frightened that he feels he needs to assure me that I'll be okay if he's not around me?

"If you don't make it in the Careers circle," he carries on, "I advise you to check out the area where you can learn all about plants and how to find food and stuff."

He pauses and I take my cue to speak. "I thought you'd tell me to exercise and get in shape as much as possible, make me focus on the weapons." Trident, I almost say as the image of him holding his in the 65th Games.

He doesn't seem to be aware of my implication.

"It's not all about strength, Annie," he tells me, "as much as it may seem to be. Mostly it's instincts and basically outsmarting everyone. I think your best shot, in case you don't make it in the Careers circle, is to run away, hide somewhere, and worry about surviving while you let everyone kill each other."

This second option seems much more logical than his insisting for me to join the Careers, but I don't question his tips.

"So, I have to be quick," I note.

"Exactly," he nods in agreement. His face lights up as he sees me cooperating.

I try to remember the last few years' tributes and wonder how many of them were just as helpless as me. District four hasn't had any tributes even closely resembling a Career, not since Finnick.

"We'll have to work on that," he adds. "Have you ever done any running?"

I consider this and answer honestly. "No, not since I was a kid. I mean, at least not on purpose."

Finnick doesn't seem to be surprised by my answer. "It's okay. At least half the kids are here without any training so you're not much behind," he assures me.

I, however, am surprised about how much he tries to comfort me. As a mentor, I guess, it's his job to do that as it is.

"Should I run once I'm down the center?"

"Yes. Ask for advice how to get quick. I'm afraid I don't have much to offer from down my sleeve for that one," he laughs, winking.

"I can do that?"

"Of course you can. That's why there are experts in every area. Don't be too shy to speak," he encourages. "Also, that doesn't mean you should be making conversation with them. Try to get as straight to the point as possible."

I smile. "I'll have that in mind. Thank you, Finnick."

He smiles back at me, and his eyes smile too. "You're very welcome, Annie. Now, I have a special drink for you," he gets up. "I'll be back in a minute, don't go away."

Like there's anywhere I could go.

Remembering, I take a look at my hand. Finnick cleaned all the blood but you could still see a line it hid under it. Now that line has nearly disappeared and I can't helped but feel amazed. I probably shouldn't be surprised to discover that the Capitol has such advanced medicine. Back in my district, I'd probably walk around with a scar for more than a week.

It is clear to me how all the victors look even more perfect once they're out of the arena. I've never given much thought to it, to how all their wounds turn into flawless skin. Neither Finnick nor Leena, not even Mags have as much as a single scratch on them.

Holding two white cups in his hands, Finnick returns as soon as promised. He hands me one before he places himself next to me. I take a look at it but I have no idea what the brown liquid could be.

"Coffee," Finnick replies to my thoughts.

Ah, coffee. I've heard of that. I take a sip expecting something sweet, but it tastes like anything but sweet.

"It'll give you energy," Finnick informs me, probably noticing my disgusted expression.

Glory and Mags join us on the sofas holding cups filled with—which I now know—coffee. Glory turns the television on and it sounds so loudly that we don't even notice Jer walking in. He sits at the very edge next to Mags and wishes us good morning.

Caesar Flickerman appears on the screen with his green hair tied in a ponytail. He is laughing while he asks everyone how excited they are. In response, Glory claps her hands just like she did yesterday and we all turn at her for a second. But Caesar captures our attention within a moment and we're all facing the screen once again. He compliments us, the tributes, for looking stunning at the Opening Ceremony and then compliments the stylists. One by one of them appear on the stage, suddenly, and he starts asking questions some of them.

As I don't seem to find the program too amusing, I excuse myself to get prepared for the training.

Once I enter my room I see the clothes that are laid out for me on the bed and I wonder if it was the same Avox girl from earlier this day who did so. I can't help but be curious whether she apprised anyone about the earlier event or worry if I might get punished somehow. I then remember that I am going to the arena and that's already the biggest punishment anyone can receive. After picking up the clothes, I head to the bathroom and on my way I notice that there is a new vase placed on the table. Again, I don't think it matches it's background at all but I don't do anything about it.

Jer and I arrive at the training center a few minutes early, but it doesn't change much as almost everyone has already arrived. We gather in a circle and in the middle stands a tall, blond man. He introduces himself as Soran. He begins to explain the training schedule almost immediately as he gets all of our attention. He speaks of what Finnick already informed me, about the experts and the various stations we'd be able to visit as we please. He strictly highlights that we are forbidden to fight each other, and I think the boy from district one held back a laugh at that remark. Soran makes sure we take the survival skills more seriously than running to grab a weapon. Once he's done talking, we're instructed to pick a station to visit.

Jer walks close to me and asks me if I can talk. My answer is positive, and he clears his throat. He seems unsure of whether to begin or not, but eventually he does.

"You know what I said yesterday, about training alone," he ignores my gaze. "I still think we should do that, but maybe we could stick together in the arena if you like."

Is that the guilt talking? Do I seem that desperate in a need for help?

Nonetheless, I shrug and manage a smile. "Sure. I'll talk to Finnick about it."

Having an ally doesn't seem too repulsive, and the more I think of it the more I like the idea. Jer is the closest I can get to trusting anyone in the arena.

He returns my smile. After a short awkward pause, we agree to go to the stations where we can get warmed up, do some running and exercise. Leena must have told Jer to focus on knives as well, or maybe he figured that on his own, but we both end up going together to the next station. We learn of the best ways to hold different types of knives and we're informed about their week and strong sides. The expert from that station instructs us to throw them towards a marked wall. Jer is much more precise than me but I don't do too badly once I am told how to position my body.

We stay at that station up until lunch. Jer picks a spot away from the Careers and I struggle over whether I should join him or try to get closer to the Careers as Finnick instructed me. In the end I sit next to Jer and decide I'm going to have to apologize to Finnick for not even trying to do what he told me. A boy who can't be older than twelve sits opposite from us. I want to go to him, to hug him, to apologize to him for Capitol's cruelty and promise him safety, but I know that is something I can't do. To distract myself, I want to begin a conversation with Jer but I give up as I can't think of anything we could possibly talk about.

After lunch I finally visit the weapons section, on my own this time. The tributes from one and two are showing off their skills. The girl from one is probably even smaller than me but the way she can handle an axe makes me assured that I have nothing on her but a few centimeters. I take my chance and walk nearby, taking an axe and trying to mimic her movements. She notices me soon enough.

"Four, am I right?" she asks. Her voice is so deep that if I wasn't looking at her figure I would have never guessed her to be so small.

"Yes," I say simply, not being able to find a better reply.

"You think you could actually do something with that?" She's looking at the axe in my hands with a mocking smile.

That is when I realize that this was a bad idea.

I curse Finnick in my thoughts and try to act as natural as possible, but I'm starting to get scared. How the hell can someone like me handle the arena?

"I'm trying to learn…" I finally choke out, hoping I didn't sound too frightened.

She laughs at that and the other two of the Careers join her.

"What's the use?" The male from two says with false concern.

I shrug, leave the axe and walk away as quickly as it is possible without looking like I'm running away. I can still hear them laugh. Surprisingly, I'm not even near the edge of tears but knowing myself, I know I easily could be. But my blood starts to slowly boil and I am angry, I am sad, I am disappointed to see the kids who just as well as me are going to be thrown in that arena and they're already acting like the Capitol has poisoned their minds.

For the rest of the training I'm at the station for tying knots, it is the only place I can think of to calm me down. It reminds me of home.

The minute we walk back into our floor, Glory takes both of our hands and leads us to the dining table as if we're little children who can't make their way on their own. The table is already served and everyone is there, even our stylists. We barely get a chance to say hi before Finnick and Leena bomb us with questions. How it went, did we learn new things, what do we think of the other tributes, were there any fights… Endless questions. I am surprised by Leena's interest as it appeared to be nonexistent yesterday. She didn't even show up for breakfast. The more I think of it, I come to the conclusion that perhaps she and Jer worked and talked in one of their rooms.

Once Leena and Jer fall into their private conversation, I tell Finnick about my encounter with the Careers.

"Ah, arrogance," he says, "didn't really think of how you might take it. Don't give it much significance," at that point he draws his face closer to mine, almost too close and puts a strand of hair behind my ear, "it'll just make you worry and we don't want to mess that beautiful face of yours, do we?"

I can feel my cheeks warm up and almost see the red color they're turning into.

Finnick makes his distance, takes a sip from his drink and acts as if what he just did was the most natural thing on the planet. It is no wonder he can make his way into every woman's bed as he pleases and as the rumors go.

At that moment, I mentally compare him to the Careers and realize he might not be much different, maybe just acts to be kinder because it's simply his job.

Mags takes her turn to talk to me, she has a few questions of her own about my training. Then, she tells me a little about her own games and comforts me by telling me that she was just as small and scared as I am, but she ditched the tears, never joined the Careers and charmed her way through the Capitol people. "Sponsors are very important," she says. That doesn't help much as I don't know the first thing about sponsors. I make a mental note to talk to Finnick about it next time I get a chance.

I look at him now. His right eyebrow is cocked up, his smile crooked and his voice has turned into his all-too-familiar seductive purr as he's talking to Reggie. Our eyes meet for a split second, but I turn my head away, embarrassed to be caught staring.

Mags distracts me. "And, about Finnick," she begins in a hushed voice, eyeing him to make sure he's distracted while she tells me. He's fallen into a conversation with Glory this time, so she continues and I barely make out the words. "He believes in you. Have that in mind."

I don't understand why she had to tell me that without him hearing, but I still take her hint to keep it to myself. After an hour, we've finished eating our dinner and Mags is the first one to leave to her room. Jed and I make small talk while Glory, Finnick and Leena watch television. It's not long before I announce going to my room myself, and they all wish me goodnight while Glory offers to walk with me. I don't get a chance to even consider refusing as she's up on her feet, walking towards me to join me. The walk to my room isn't too long.

"Thank you, Glory," I say sincerely.

"Oh, it's nothing, sugar," she replies sweetly. "Those two are about to sneak out anyway, I'm just making it easier for them." I realize she is referring to Finnick and Leena as it is obvious that Jer can't go anywhere.

What she tells me stays in my thoughts for a while as I prepare for bed, but decide it's none of my business what the mentors do as long as they help me and Jer.

Tired, I drift into sleep easily tonight.


	4. I'm Just a Girl

The second day in the Training Center is better, but not much different from the first. Maybe because I have in mind what Finnick told me ('try to remember what the rest of the tributes are showing off') to keep me distracted and busy the whole time, or maybe because I spend most of the time running and lifting some things around. I am surprised to feel so relaxed after what happened earlier this morning. It sums up to this:

I woke up to the sound of Glory messing up my closet, taking out a piece of clothing and then another, examining each closely and carefully before throwing them viciously on the ground. By the view around her, I figured she'd been doing that for quite a while now. Rubbing my eyes to make it easier for them to meet the bright morning glow, I sighed. A part of me felt frustrated that I had been awakened at half past six a.m. and I can't give a very good explanation why it is so. Being brought all the way to the Capitol to die in a gladiatorial fight, I shouldn't be giving much significance to such tiny things.

"This," she started saying once I sat up and made sure she knew I was awake by grumbling soundly, "is," there was another pause, "an outrage!" The last word was said in more volume, which I figured to be emphasis, as it is so hard to make a difference between an emphasis and that high tone in which all the sentences end in their silly Capitol accent.

The only outrage I could notice was her messing up a perfectly cleaned up room, so I bit my lip in order to keep my mouth shut.

Glory threw a purple shirt towards my bed, it being the last thing she held. "That is the only fabric that could be considered at least a little bit nice in the entire closet!" She was announcing as her head shook in disapproval, her look pointing at the shirt. "What do they think you tributes, aliens?"

Maybe Glory truly is more energetic in the mornings, but I didn't see how all those clothes could make her think that Capitol treats us badly but not the entire concept of the Hunger Games.

I was on the edge to say bits of my thoughts, but of course she was quicker with her words. "I shall talk to your stylist. I don't want to make you worry over all this, sugar. But I must have you know that tonight, the entire prep teams, yours and Jer's, will be joining us for dinner and you cannot be dressed in anything from this!" She exclaimed, gesturing towards the mess around her. "You know," she was looking me in the eyes finally, and her voice was turning into a slightly serious tone, "the members from your prep teams get to bet, unlike the stylists, me and the mentors, and you have to look representable during dinner, how are they going to like you otherwise?"

My eyebrows flew up within a second. "They've seen me naked," I stated, knowing that if I waited any longer I would never voice my opinion. "So, I guess seeing me wear whatever won't change the fact that they've seen every single bit of me. If they didn't consider the way I look worthy a bet," at this point, I found it hard not to get sarcastic, "I don't see how a better outfit during dinner is going to change their minds."

Glory didn't even try to hide the fact that she was offended by what I said. "Well," after a minute of silence, she started in a small, defeated voice, "I was only trying to help you."

I feel much guiltier right now than I did when it happened. Feeling too silly to share this story with anyone, I keep it to myself. Finnick and Leena promised to meet me and Jer during lunch. That is at least two hours and Jer a few stations away now. The station I'm currently at—tying knots—is the only station that could be found empty before I and a twelve year old tribute from district seven came. I don't even bother trying to talk to her, but I really want to. Actually, not particularly with her, more like anyone, as these few hours of training have made me feel very lonely.

When my thoughts travel back to home, I can almost see clearly what my family's doing. My father sits on his rocky chair, stomping impatiently to hear or see any news of me, my mother works her anger out, probably cooking much more often than she should be, my sister lays on her bed, probably reading through the silly notebooks we've been writing and drawing in our entire lives. What I best know and am a hundred percent sure of is that they miss me as enormously as I miss them.

Picturing the waves hit the shore relaxes me, and tying these knots I imagine I'm sitting just before them, all smiles and thoughts, enjoying the sun as it adds on to my skin slowly and slowly a layer of the bronze tan it gives. I catch myself wishing for the arena to be stationed near by a sea, or maybe water, that way I might find a place where I could feel peaceful, a place where I could be okay.

I don't notice Jer arrive in this station until he sits next to me a mumbles a greeting. He grabs the end of my rope, as it is very long, and starts making knots of his own. As the time passes, I end up showing him a few of the ones I know and, as for the ones he doesn't, he asks me to teach him how to do them. He's a quick learner, and I ask him whether he's as good in the other stations.

He doesn't give me the reply I've asked for, but instead gives me a remark of his own. "I can't get around at the weapons station. It's always over-flooded with Careers."

I silently agree with him. The Careers are enjoying themselves too much and haven't shown even the slightest interest in anything but weapons and combat. Which is quite logical, as they've been preparing for these Games their entire lives.

"I went to that station yesterday. They laughed at me," I tell him before I can stop myself.

Jer snorts. "Not surprising. They are so eager for the Games to begin. I wonder if killing would bring them joy."

He laughs at his own comment bitterly, and I join him. After a few seconds we stop, though, and I become pretending to be unaware of how sick that actually is, what the Capitol makes us do.

Lunch starts only a few more minutes after that and we head to the dining room. Once we've assembled food from the carts, we sit not too far from when sat yesterday, but too far from the other tributes. Today we eat chicken wings, rise, some vegetables, mushrooms and something that neither Jer nor I can put a name to. We eat slowly and in silence. The silence is not awkward at all, but more like unwanted. We don't have much to talk about as it is, though, so I can't complain. What could our topics be? Maybe a few remarks that we would badly try to make sound as jokes about the arena, maybe one of us could share a memory, but we don't do anything of that anyway.

Not talking is something we do by choice. But what I can't help is feeling anxious for Finnick to arrive. Where is he with Leena? They promised to join us for lunch. I've been waiting for that the entire morning as it is.

Jer finishes eating first and it's not long because I do so as well. We continue sitting in silence and I know that the same thoughts are going through both of our heads. "Maybe they forgot," states Jer in an indifferent voice after a while.

But just then, someone touches my shoulders from behind and I start. I turn to see Finnick's biggest yet grin. He's laughing while Leena is glaring at him. "I got you good!"

At this, Leena scoffs and mutters, "Such a child."

Finnick ignores her and continues laughing. They both find their places next to us at the table.

"Gee, Annie, I thought you were going to slap me," says Finnick in between laughs.

I smile at this, deciding that my instincts and reflexes don't appear as weak as I feel them to do. "For a moment there, I was," I say jokingly, not quite sure whether he means this seriously.

He digs into his pocket and takes out a tiny flower. A daisy. But before I've taken a good look at it, he has already extended his arm to place it in my ear. "For my girl," he says with his charming smile. I bet at least two dozen of the Capitol women would faint if they were in my place. However, it doesn't affect me even nearly that way and I say, only for him to hear: "From her lovely boy."

He grins in satisfaction at this. I think Leena is glaring at him again because his voice changes from his seductive purr to a serious tone. "Did you do what I said?"

I nod. "District one, the boy's very fond of a sword, the girl loves the axe," I begin and get his full attention. "From two, both of them are good with anything," I try not to show how my heart sinks at this fact. "Three, I've never seen the boy but the girl was lifting things as I was. Her name is Alira. From five, the boy tried his way with the Careers, but I don't know what happened after that. The girl never moved from the survival skills station. From six, the boy is probably twice my size and that distracted me from noticing much anything else." I shrug at the very thought.

"Size isn't everything," Finnick winks at me.

Ignoring his comment, I continue. "From seven, the little girl tied knots with me. I didn't notice the boy, or the girl from eight. The boy from nine though is probably thirteen and he just stood behind, watching everyone. As for ten, both of them looked big and scary and very handy with spears. I think the might know each other from before. Eleven and twelve, none of the tributes got to my attention much, maybe the boy from twelve, he also was kind of good with spears," I finish in one breath.

"Good, good," Finnick says. "And you? Did you do anything besides tying knots and running?"

"Not much, really," I say shyly, feeling guilty.

He still gives me one of his smiles. A pause follows and we both fall to our thoughts. "I think you might really have a shot at this." He finally says.

I raise my eyebrows at him. "Don't lie to me, Finnick," I say honestly, my voice sounds bored and tired. "Not you."

He comes closer to me and looks me straight in the eyes without blinking. "What if I promise you, here and now, that I won't ever lie to you?"

I seriously consider this for a moment. "I probably won't believe you," I say since we're talking hypothetically.

"If I swore to you on my life?" He tries.

I'm not exactly sure what he's getting at and I'm not sure how far I want him to go. So, I simply say, "I might believe you just then."

His face relaxes for a moment, and he comes even closer. I'm not too comfortable about having only a few centimeters parting us but I can't find a way to make myself do anything about it. It's what he always does, anyway, and it's about time I got used to it. So I sit there like the trapped girl I am, waiting for him to speak and trying my best not to blush stupidly.

"I promise you, Annie, that I won't ever lie to you," his tone is so serious that I find it hard not to take it that away. "I swear on my life," he adds and it is the only part that sounds even slightly like a joke, even though that slightly is not much at all.

I smile. My eyes have buried their focus in his sea green, and I manage to mumble, "Good. Because you're all I have now."

It is the most honest thing I've said to Finnick Odair so far and it pains me that it's so true.

The rest of the training flies by quickly and smoothly. I can't keep my mind off what Finnick promised. A part of me trusts him already, and I'm sure that the same part would have trusted any mentor I would have had. But another part of me trusts my instinct and I have no other choice but to rely on it. What I know best, and maybe he does too, is that I need to trust him no matter what my other thoughts are. As I said, he's all I have now.

Showering is the first on my to-do list once I'm back on our floor, but I don't do that until I've placed the flower Finnick put in my hair on the window's marble. I am not even surprised to find about a hundred different buttons for adjustment in the bathroom. What surprises me was how simple the whole system is. I figure that out after a splash of cold water meets my skin. Once I'm out, towel dried, anyone could notice from a distance that I smell like strawberries. I picked that flavor as I enjoyed the strawberries during breakfast.

Dressed in my underwear, I lay in my bed for some time. I keep preparing various apology lines for Glory uncontrollably. I even decide to wear the shirt she threw on my bed this morning, even though I have to ditch my bra to do so. It feels uncomfortable. But not now. Now I'm only wearing the scent of strawberries and imagining being someplace else. Somewhere far, far away where there's no such thing as the Hunger Games. There's no mentors, no prep teams, no axes nor knives. The survival skills I learn by experience are enough to guarantee me a good life. There's no need to impress anyone falsely. I'm myself, I love and am loved.

The tears begin to fill my eyes and I decide that imagining such worlds can only make things harder for me.

I can't even remember ever being like this.

I really was that girl who was always smiling, wasn't I? Brave. Strong. Willing. Who am I now? How could I have changed so entirely in a matter of days? Hours, even.

But I guess there's not much in my hands right now.

Sighing, I get up lazily and get dressed. Glory smiles when she seems me. She even compliments the choice of pants. Apparently the colors unite in perfection.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," I hear myself say.

When Glory hugs me I know I don't have to say any of those apology lines I prepared. I know that she knows that my anger is misdirected. It isn't her who's throwing kids to fight in the arena every year. She's just a mere witness.

Mags doesn't eat dinner with us. Finnick tells me that she's gone somewhere else to dine with friends among the victors. All of them are in Capitol during the games. Some are mentors, but the others who don't get tributes are obliged to be here. At that, I look as a torture. What else could it be, reliving your most horrid memories?

Or maybe that's just me.

We're in the middle of discussing last year's games, or it's more like I'm listening to Faro talk about the beautiful eyes District 10's tribute had, when I ask, "Is it too bad?"

Every single eye in the room is fixed on me.

"I meant getting tributes every year that die."

All of the Capitol people look at me as if I asked the most insane question. Finnick, however, gives me an answer.

"I wouldn't call it _bad_," he says. "It's hard. When your tribute enters the arena, you do everything in your power to help them. At least, that what most of us mentors do."

"Some just drink..." adds Leena in a mutter. I think of District 12's victor Haymitch Abernathy whom I've never seen sober.

Finnick ignores her. "Once the cannon shoots is when it gets really bad. It's not just the tribute who dies, but a part of you as well. It's impossible not to feel guilty..." his voice is so serious. I am sure I am not the only one who notices this, as everyone seems to be used to his cocky tones.

"You get used to it," says Leena a bit too loud before she stuffs her mouth with chicken.

I'm still watching Finnick as his eyes change expressions. For a moment, he seems to struggle deciding who to be. For me, it's like I'm almost there, feeling it, and suddenly I don't want another part of him to die when I do. I don't want anyone's part to die because of me. But before I do anything stupid like cry, I remember that I shouldn't misdirect my anger once again. I settle with admitting that it's not_ entirely_ my fault that there are kids who are stronger than me and will most likely kill me.

Does Jer feel the same way, after hearing this?

The silence doesn't last more than a few minutes when Reggie clears her throat to break the ice, and everyone's chattering again. Everyone except for Leena, who is eating as if she's never seen food in her life. I, on the other hand, lose my appetite completely.

I look at Finnick searching for conversation. "Did you know that you were going to win before the Games began?" I dare to ask him.

He shakes his head no, his expression is still unusually serious.

"I was just as scared as you are," he tells me.

"But you never showed that," I point out.

He sighs. "No, but that doesn't make it any less real. I was so scared not to get a chance to live my life. And, look at me now," he strikes a pose, grins widely. "Just living the dream."

Is he really? What about the whole dying part thing? How is that part of a dream?

But I don't say anything.

"I didn't know that I was going to win, but I knew I wanted to," he says finally.

That is something I do not know. "I'm not sure how I'd live with myself if I did," I admit. It is the thing I've always known, no matter how much I tried to dismiss the Games my entire life.

Finnick pops his eyebrows up. "You just do. I do it," his expression turns thoughtful. "I still see them, you know. They haven't left me, I doubt they ever will. All the kids I killed... And the Capitol has it's wonderful way of reminding me, daily even," he's laughing now, but no matter how real that laugh may seem, I know it's not. No matter how much of a confident persona he might try to present, I refuse to believe that he'd truly laugh at that. "But if it weren't them, it'd be me. It's pretty much a bit compromise, all of it, really."

He's right.

He looks around, eyeing everyone as if to make sure they didn't hear what he told me. Unable to resist it, I smile at how normal he looks just now. He's no longer the gorgeous, ever-most-successful Capitol's seducer, but just Finnick. And just Finnick is another tribute that lived through Capitol's horrors, perhaps still is.

I should have known there's more onto him than what the television screen shows.

He jumps to his feet and grabs my right hand. I'm unable to react, because once he speaks, everyone's attention is on him. "Everyone, I wish you a nice evening, but I am afraid the time for us to part has come; my mission now is to take this lovely girl to my room," he exclaims ever-so dramatically, winking at me. "Enjoy, and try not to think much about how you want to be in her place."

Holding back a laugh, I join him in standing. "And with what decency he does that," I carry on, "he took me to dinner first."

Finnick grins widely at me and pulls my hand in a direction that probably leads to his room. "I like you when you joke," he says along the way. He still hasn't let go of my hand. "You should do that more often." But we both know I don't have often to work with, not right now.

"You would have liked me much more, then, if we met back home," I say in all honesty.

He considers this. He stops walking and turns to face me. "But I like you anyway, Annie Cresta."

"I'd find that easier to believe if you intention wasn't getting me in your room," it is me the one who winks this time and Finnick bursts out laughing. So much that he's actually holding his stomach now.

"You," he manages to choke out, "just scored a few bonus points."

"To what?"

"I might even tell you a secret now," he says, still laughing, winking as he always does, as he opens the door.

We walk in, and it's all familiar. Basically, it's the same room I got except for the colors. They're changed, alright. They're much brighter and combined with better taste. Having spent so much time in a room like this, I know it's best spots, though. This is an advantage I take. I let go of his hand and sit down the soft carpet. I tap the spot next to me, gesturing for him to join me. He does that.

We sit like that, adjusting to the atmosphere. The room would be completely dark if it weren't for the moonlight and that pale light the ceiling bulb provides. It's a little bit colder than it was in the dining room, but I like it better this way.

"Tell me a secret, Finnick," I say. "Tell me how you can keep a straight face with all that's happened." Saying happening feels a little bit too much. I shouldn't be making him take my case more seriously than he attends to.

He sits down next to me on the place I selected for him. His eyes are forming a frown but he's still smiling. He sure does that a lot. "And what choice do I have?"

He makes a good point, I note. My fingers go through the carpet's soft fabric tentatively. "I guess…" I start but pause abruptly, unsure of what to say.

"That maybe it's not as bad as it looks? That maybe it's just you who looks at it that way?" he tries to finish my sentence.

I nod in agreement. "You've been there," I echo his own words from before.

"Yeah," he mutters, no longer looking at me. "You get used to it," it is he the one who's quoting now – Leena.

Getting used to it doesn't seem like a happy alternative to me. I shrug at the thought of getting used to all of this after being forced to be a part of it.

"You said that, um…" I trace off. I remember his promise. "Do I really? Have a shot, I mean."

"You will, with all the sponsors. You just need to want it, Annie," he says with a semi-smile, his green eyes glowing in the dim light.

I send him a stern, sarcastic look. "Yes, the Capitol just loves a cry-baby, average, small girl with nothing on her that could possibly suggest that she could get even remotely close to winning. A lot of sponsors are forming a line just now, in fact. Not to mention that she's not her bare-chested mentor who can get half the Capitol sponsor him by just winking at them. It's not the same for everyone, Finnick. She can't be him…" I say, remembering his approach during the 65th games. His stylist seemed to be more than happy that he didn't mind walking around almost naked.

Maybe I crossed a line, but I'm no longer sensitive to everyone else's feelings. It's time for me to focus on mine.

He gets to his knees, facing me. There's no smile playing with his lips. His eyes don't have that smirk they always do. It takes him only a few moments to take his shirt of. For a moment, it's like a day hasn't passed since his games. Like I'm back in my house, looking at him on the screen. Him, a child, another tribute. Is he trying to intimidate me? Or turn me into one of his Capitol women? I do not know anything nor can I find my voice to speak.

"Would you sponsor me?" he says in a cold manner.

I don't do anything.

I can feel his eyes digging into me, x-raying every inch, looking for an answer.

"Do you want to be this?"

It takes me some time to realize that my jaw's dropped halfway through. I lock my eyes with his, again at loss of words. What the hell is his point? What I feel like doing is running through the door, to my room, locking myself in. But I won't do that. I won't allow Finnick Odair scare me.

A broken half-laugh, half-sigh leaves his lips. "Do you want to become a piece of meat?"

_A piece of meat?_ His words echo through my head.

But he's right. That's how I would describe him back in my district. That's how the Capitol presents him. But do I catch myself, just now, thinking that's he's not that? I've heard the rumors, I've seen the screen. I know what he's done, what he does.

He's getting closer to me now, and, for a moment, I have to resist the urge to slap him away. I don't, however. He stops, still looking at me. I get that feeling in my gut, screaming that I can't do this. I don't know what he's going to do, and even worse, I don't know what to do myself. Just like that, his hands find their way to my shirt and take it off as well. He wouldn't have been able to do that if I hadn't lifted my arms up in approval. Why did I let him? Why is this happening?

We're looking at each other. His eyes never leave mine and I am thankful for that. I'm trying to read his thoughts, desperate to know what's going through his head. Desperate to know what I'm supposed to do.

"There you have it, Annie," he whispers as he places his hand on my face. "You can do it too. Don't think for a second that you couldn't possibly," I close my eyes as if that's going to block his words. I want him to stop, stop, stop! I don't need this. I wasn't implying to this. I want to be home, safe under my bed's cover with no danger of becoming a piece of meat. "Next year Faro will be talking about your beautiful eyes," he tells me, his lips pursing into a tight line.

I feel chills go through my bare skin. Something, I need something to cover me, warm me up. Not this. This is not real, this shouldn't be happening. Why does Finnick do this to me? Was his intention to make me feel as uncomfortable?

His finger traces over my eyelids. "Open your eyes, Annie," he demands, but his voice is soft, his touch gentle. "Tell me," but I don't know what until I really open my eyes. "Do you want to be this?"

_No!_ I want to scream, I want to tell him that this's upset me, I want to ask him if this was really necessary. But I don't, I grow soft at his touch; his fingers trace down to my neck and I now I'm scared from him hearing my heart beat loudly in a rush. I feel exposed, not just because I'm half-naked, but because I feel that he can look into me. I don't want him to know my fears; I don't want him to hear my thoughts. But he does, somehow.

"No," I finally whisper.

And, suddenly, everything becomes real again. "You won't be, Annie," he's saying, and there are no parts of him touching me anymore. "The person everyone saw during my games… or any person you see, well, it sticks after it's all over. You don't want that. Just be yourself, it's be the best way. You are beautiful, and you can show everyone how sexy you are. But you don't want that. Trust me. Can you do that, Annie?"

I can't find it in me to speak, being in some state of light shock, so I just nod my head yes. I already do, I want to say.

"Do you want to go home?"

I nod again, wordless.

"Promise me. Promise me that you will do everything you can in that arena," his fierce words ring out in my head. Promise me. I can almost hear my mother say it, just now, and I hear my father's voice, and it pains me right in my stripped chest.

My eyes are shut again, chasing away the dizziness that catches me off guard. I don't want to lie again, I don't want to promise him, but I'm weak again and I do it anyway. I instantly regret it because I don't want to spend the last few days of my life lying to the people I care for. My family, and Finnick now. It's impossible for me not to care for him. He's a great mentor, but it's not that what I—or what every person in the Capitol—see in him. He's broken, damaged, and it's difficult for me to read him. Does he know that? Does he know I don't look at him as a piece of meat?

I can usually read people well. But this time I can't, this time I'm faced with a different, more difficult challenge which Finnick has provided for me. I am certain that the closest I will ever get to knowing him is this; this pale, nearly empty image I form about him, because there is no reason whatsoever for him to let me in. And I don't mind, I'm satisfied with I have, happy to be caring once again.

I remember what Mags told me yesterday, that he believes in me.

"Thank you."

The words leave my lips unnoticeably, and I force my eyelids to open.

Finnick is looking at me, his eyes sparkle, his expression is somewhat puzzled and yet relaxed, and in this moment I am sure he knows what I'm referring to. He knows that I appreciate all the hope he's giving me, all his help and preparations, but most of all – this moment. Because right now I know who I am and I don't care if I make it very obvious. Maybe I'm not what the Capitol wants to see, or what Finnick sees, or whatever the other tributes see, but I'm me and I know I'm not a killer. I'm not Capitol's sexy tribute, nor it's weak, cry-baby one, nor I am strong. But I know what I want. I want to go home. I want to see my family's faces, hear my friends laugh. I want to love and be loved as I am in my imaginary world.

Whatever the cost may be, I have to at least try. For my sister, for my gentle mother and strong father, for Finnick. I don't want another piece of him to die as his tribute does. He doesn't deserve that. No one deserves that. I am sure now, and I know it's enough.

"I promise you too, Annie," I hear his voice fighting to stay steady. I look him in the eyes, scared of what might happen. I don't want him to break for me, and what's even worse – to pretend to do so. I don't need that. "I promise I will do everything in my power to help you keep your promise."

Do I deserve it? And why?

It's his job, and only the ones who are good at it actually care.

"Thank you," I repeat, fighting to keep my own, quiet voice straight.

Without thinking much, I wrap my arms around him. He hesitates for a moment, but it's not long before I feel his strong ones envelop me. I no longer mind that I'm not wearing anything from above my waist, nor do I feel lonely. I'm warm, I'm peaceful, I'm thankful. I haven't embraced anyone since my parents in the Justice Hall, I've missed it so much. Finnick's grip becomes tighter and I'm glued to him. I'm small, just an ant but no longer allowing the Capitol to squash me. I'm terrified, but not the way I was before. I'm terrified of not getting a chance to feel this way again, and to feel many ways again, and to feel in so many new ways I do not know just now. And I'm holding onto Finnick as if I'm holding onto all my chances, knowing I don't have to let go just now.

"You have to fight, Annie," I hear him whisper into my hair. "You've got nothing to lose if you do so, but a lot if you don't."

I have my promise to keep, to so many people now. And to many more, I know, even though I never officially made it. My friends, they need their advices back. I don't want them to go looking for new ones. I want them to have mine. Maybe it's selfish, but it doesn't feel that way right now. It's cruel, what I have to do, what will be done to me, what is done to so many kids each year, but as Finnick said, I don't have much of a choice. Why wouldn't I fight? I've really got so much to lose without doing so.

It's funny how I never knew that until I did just now. How I've never felt this way, so aware, so exposed. Even if there really are the last few days I have left, it's still enough, and this moment makes everything feel enough.

We stay in that position for minutes to come. Once we find it in ourselves to pull away, Finnick takes a good, long look at me, and I at him. He's pushing my hair back over my face. He's smiling, and I grin. I don't need to thank him again, I'm sure he knows it already. He dresses me as if I'm a doll, or a baby who can't do that on its own. It's his shirt that I'm wearing, and he says, "I don't think I'll fit into yours."

We both laugh in unison. "Oh, it's alright. I'm sure everyone will understand," I joke, and we laugh even harder.

"But, if that's the case, maybe you should lose yours again," he's winking again.

I roll my eyes. "Goodnight, Finnick," I say.

We're looking at each other for a while, and I try to understand what all of this could mean. But even though I can't, I don't need to. I got everything I needed tonight.

"Goodnight, Annie."

The walk to my room is short, as usual. I lay in my luxurious bed for hours and hours, having trouble for the first time with the one thing I didn't, ever since I was reaped; sleep.

I think about this day, so long, as I was up so early and went to bed so late, and how quickly it passed. So many things happened, but it still feels like more could have been. I'm scared, again, of not doing all I could, but I know it's not true. How much can one possibly do just a few days away from the arena? I think about Finnick, and suddenly I feel sorry for him. For his tributes, all of them dead now. I imagine pieces of him die as they did, and I wonder how all the mentors are feeling right now. How many pieces of theirs are dead? How much do they care about their tributes? How many of them are going to ache once the games end?

I close my eyes, and my last thought before I fall asleep is how much I don't want Finnick to be the one to ache when the Games end.


	5. Hope

Author's note: Thank you, every one of you who's reading my story, especially those who have reviewed, favorited, and follow it. And to my friends, who have read and commented my words, whether here or in private messages. I'm very happy you like it and appreciate the encouragement you've given me to write!

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We all enjoy things we shouldn't.

All too much, it's even ridiculous at times. It doesn't matter whether it's long term or temporarily, but we all do it, don't we? Sometimes it's a scene we're set to watch, sometimes a game we have to play, or maybe something that's against the rules and sometimes it's a moment like the one I had with Finnick yesterday.

I shouldn't be enjoying the thought of it, should I? Why am I thinking about it at all? And even though I know I should be really thinking about something more useful, I don't want to. My mind protests every time I bring up the Games to focus. How can I fight my mind? I can't. That's where my thoughts are located, that's where they come from. So if my mind refuses to think about anything but Finnick Odair, then it's pretty obvious that it can't make itself do otherwise.

Here I am, just like every cliched teenage girl_—_or, for the matter, probably woman, _older_ woman_—_has been at least once after seeing the flawless District 4 victor, imagining to be back home, in his arms. Back home, where it could have meant anything at all.

I think about how I've never been in love, and this is the first time I desperately want to be. So desperately that I'd let Finnick have my heart. I don't want to die knowing I've never been in love. But neither do I want to die before I hug my parents once more, nor do I want to die without hearing my friends laugh again, and there is so much food on the Capitol's menu that I haven't tasted, and so many drinks in blue, green, yellow colors I haven't drank. No, I have never had a pet - I've always wanted one! My sister never taught me to play the flute as she's promised and we aren't even close to finishing our notebooks that follow all the events in our lives. I've never been kissed. I'm not married and I haven't given birth to dozens of beautiful children. My life is at its very beginning, and I haven't done anything yet.

This list can go on forever, there are so many things I haven't experienced, so many of them I deserve to live through, so many of them I've always wanted. No, I don't want to die before getting a chance to experience at least a few of them! I don't want to die before being happy. I don't have to be bathed in riches, I don't need a flawless life, I don't need any of the luxury I've seen in the Capitol. I don't. I just want to go home and live my life. That's all I want. But I have to fight to get it.

I wish I was stronger, much more heartless than I am. I wish I didn't break every half hour at the very thought of killing anyone. It's like as each day brings me a step closer to the arena, I'm having the same debate inside me. Each day causes two screams inside my head, one telling me that I have to fight and the other telling me I can't. And each day it's harder to see the winning side.

And that's all I do. I think, I want, I wish, I imagine. Why don't I do anything that could be of any use? Why _can't_ I do anything?

I've never wanted control, but I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't like to have some right now.

But this is just another beginning of a day I can't change anything about.

I'm up a tad bit later today, but not too late to get to the Training Center in time. Missing breakfast doesn't seem like a big deal until my stomach starts grumbling. It's not that I've never missed a meal, but all of this eating recently has me getting used to it. And all that in just a day. I laugh soundly at the realization that it hasn't been more than a few days since my arrival at the Capitol. It feels like years, that's how long I've been stuck here.

"What's so funny?" I'm at the knives station_—per Finnick's mentoring—_when I hear someone ask.

I turn to face a tall, blonde girl looking down at me with her blue eyes. District 10. If it weren't for her soft facial features and long hair I would have had a hard time believing that it was a girl standing before me. Man shoulders, nearly flat chest, muscular. And the first thought I get is, _why isn't she someplace with the Careers?_

Her voice isn't mean, though, and she's smiling. "Nothing," I finally make myself say. "I was just thinking."

It isn't that hard to smile back, but I'm not sure how many of my smiles I should be sharing with the people who are supposed to kill me.

She laughs. "I was thinking too, but it's not really easy to find something to laugh at," she says, putting down on a metal shelf her collection of knives. It's no wonder I could find many, given that I've just arrived here. She's taken most of the best ones as it is. She probably noticed me staring, because she says, "I thought it'd be best to throw each type, see which one suits me best."

"The light ones have worked the best for me."

It's not long before I regret saying that, giving away what I've been practicing with for hours these last few days now. But she could have easily seen that herself, so I relax at that thought. It's not giving away much, that's for sure. Everyone's been down this station at least once already.

"Oh, yes," she nods in agreement with what I register as too much enthusiasm. "It's not that hard to hit the target with those. I get the feeling they fly on their own once you throw them," she comments and I can't decide if it's a joke.

After a few moments have passed and it is clear I don't have much to say, she continues talking. "I've tried all the types," she informs me, pointing at the knives she dropped on the shelf. "Thought it wouldn't be bad to practice something I might me good at. You know, encouragement and things like that," she winks.

For some reason I catch myself thinking how maybe, just maybe she could get along with Finnick. I can't help but wonder_, why not with me?_ She seems nice enough. She makes conversation. But I guess there's nothing that could overcome the fact that one of us, or maybe both will be soon enough dead. I shrug at the very thought, but she doesn't seem to notice. Luckily, too, because I wouldn't like to talk about it.

"Are you?" I can't stop myself asking. What's wrong with me? "Encouraged, I mean," I blurt out.

But she doesn't give the impression that she found my question awkward at all. "Not as much as I hoped," she frowns. "I'm usually more precise."

Something about her remark makes me think that she's just as good as a Career. She's probably been training back in her district, having all that muscle anyway.

I don't say anything. I grab a few of the knives I mostly practice with.

"I'm Emile," she says, looking at me.

Emile. Like my friend back at home. She's two years older than me, so she couldn't have been in my place here in the Capitol. But she's strong, really, and I've always admired that about her. She would have done much better than me. And this girl in front of me is just another reminder of home.

"Annie," I mumble and force a smile.

Emile smiles back almost instantly. "I like you, Annie," she says.

I crock up an eyebrow at that, but then smile to hide my skeptical reaction. I turn to walk away, knives in my hands.

But, I can't just do that, can I?

"Hey, four," Emile voiced just as soon as I started turning. Again? What now?

"Yeah?" I'm trying my best to plaster a polite smile.

Isn't talking to me as awkward and as painful for her as it is for me? How can she do that knowing that she has to kill me in a few days?

She walks closer to me, only so there is a step or two parting us. "When we're in the arena, I'm sticking with the boy from nine. I like you. Maybe you should join us," she speaks slowly and carefully, eyeing our surroundings, probably not wanting to be overheard. "If you want to, that is."

My eyes widen with surprise and I don't even try to hide it. How it came down to this I can only wonder. I don't even bother asking her if she's serious, because she seems to be. But still, seriously? I haven't trained a day for the games. It's obvious. I'm small. I spent the first day in the Capitol, and, for the matter, some of the following days as well - crying. Why would anyone want me as an ally? To slow them down? Or maybe I'll make a good human shield.

Also, what troubles me is the boy from nine. He's thirteen. Not athletic in any case. I haven't seen him do much anything than stand back, analyzing everyone. Making strategies? I don't know. Why? Why us? Emile would fit with the Careers too traditionally.

"I'm with Jer," I tell her.

Where is Jer? Has he been asked to be an ally by anyone? What if I accept, or refuse, and he gets angry with me?

Emile is looking at me with a puzzled expression.

"Jer's the boy from my district," I explain.

Her lips form the letter 'o'. "Is he good with anything?"

I wonder if I'd sound too silly telling her that I don't know. Because, I really don't. When I tried to ask him_—_and well, did_—_he misdirected his answer. In all the stations we've been together, he's surely better than me. But can I tell her that? It's not me we're talking about, after all. I don't even know how I would feel if Jer told the tributes what I've been trying to get better at during our training. That is, if they haven't seen for themselves.

"Maybe you should ask him," I finally decide to answer.

"How about you ask him over lunch, and then tell me what you two decide, eh?"

But before I even get a chance to retort, she's already walking away.

I struggle with my thoughts, anxious. Maybe this is the best offer I've got. But there is no guarantee whatsoever that I should trust this girl. The idea of becoming a human shield or anything resembling that makes me feel sick. As if it isn't bad enough going in that arena as it is. Odds are, I'll probably be dead before I could even think of teaming up with her. And, in case I'm not, being an ally to someone I know nothing about sounds like a suicide mission to me. Emile is as good as a Career in my eyes.

I don't trust the Careers.

I think of Emile, my friend back at home, and how easy it would have been for her to make a decision right now. She's smart. She's strong. Not like me. But this isn't my dear Emile here.

I've been running for some time now, I notice once I slow down to catch my breath. I don't remember getting here, but I guess I've just been too busy with my own thoughts. Jer's standing a few meters away from me, watching. I wave and he starts approaching me.

"Hi," I manage to get out once he's close enough.

"I talked to the girl from ten," he tells me. "She wants us to be allies."

I'm surprised. Didn't she ask me to talk to him?

"I guess some people are simply impatient," I mutter.

"What?"

"We talked. Me and Emile," I explain. "She asked me the same thing."

Jer laughs. "I told her I'm already teamed up with you, though," he says, folding his arms at his chest. "Didn't know if you'd want to."

Appreciating his concern, I note that maybe Jer and I aren't too much different. And at that moment, I know that there's no reason we should be as different. We're all people and I seem to be forgetting that. Is that what the Capitol wants?

"What do you think?" I ask, sitting on the floor. My leg muscles ache, pulsing rhythmically.

Jer considers this. He joins me on the floor, and we both sit in silence for a while. "It's not the first time I've talked to her," he says, "Very talkative, that one. I think she's trying to get as many tributes as possible against the Careers. The boy from her district joined them."

That's something I didn't know. As far as I knew, the only tributes in the Careers alliance were all four tributes from Districts one and two. My heart sinks at the thought that there are more of them.

"They didn't ask her?" The image of her tall, strong built crosses my mind. She'd make a good addition to their alliance, I noted that earlier.

Jer raises his shoulders. "Don't know. But either way, she doesn't like them."

"What would you do?" I ask him, hoping he understands my question.

He doesn't take the time to think which assures me that he's already got some kind of a plan. "I guess I'd talk to Leena first," but we both know that's not possible. It's the last day we have in training, and we don't get too see our mentors until after the training. We have to make a decision as soon as possible, if we don't want to tell Emile in front of everyone tomorrow.

But we don't. We don't do much anything until lunchtime, during which Emile is a few tables away talking to the boy from District 9. They've served fish and sea food today which is another thing that reminds me of home. And home, the place where I want to be, doesn't help me escape the thoughts of Emile's offer. I can't find a way to make myself trust her, or anyone for the matter, and the closest I can get to trusting anyone from the tributes is Jer. But Jer is home, and that's the best explanation I've got and that doesn't help me anyhow with the situation with Emile. Jer must be thinking something similar as me, because before we head back for the gymnasium, he tells me, "I guess we'll have to tell her tomorrow."

Tomorrow is the day of the Gamemaker's assessment. We're supposed to show them our best skills to get a training score that will ultimately decide whether a tribute receives sponsors, as the score is what they mostly focus on. Maybe not necessarily, but if the Gamemakers tell the audience we're no good by giving us a low score, I doubt there'd be any sponsor who'd waste their money. I have no idea how to impress them.

Finnick made it clear that I need the sponsors.

I trust Finnick. I also hope that he can tell me what to do tomorrow and help me decide if I should team up with Emile along with Jer. And if it weren't for my trust, I think would have spent the remaining time of today's training in panic. Instead, I go to the knives station again with Jer, from where we head towards the Survival skills as it seems to be everyone's last station. Almost all twenty-four of us are gathered there and time seems to pass quicker than ever. The voice of the expert is soothing, calm, but I still have a really bad feeling down my gut.

Emptiness.

When I'm back in my room I cry. Leena had been waiting for Jer, and her being the only one to do so makes it easy for me to escape. I'm well hidden under my bed sheets. And I cry my eyes out. I cry for my family and my low chances of getting back home to them. I cry, because I hate it that my every move will decide whether I'm going to die or not. Because I'm so unsure, so confused, and no matter how much I try to fight it, it keeps coming back to me. I cry, because just this morning I forgot for the smallest of moments where I am and I let myself be human once again.

I'm not human. This isn't human. That's the Capitol's purpose, to destroy us completely, isn't it?

I cry over everything I've been crying ever since I was reaped.

And, once I stop, I run to the bathroom to stare at the mirror. It's not just my eyes that are red, but my face as well. I splash cold, then hot water over it but nothing conceals the damage the tears have made. In panic, I start opening all the drawers until I find something useful. It's a powder that catches my attention, and I spread it all over my face. The result is satisfying altogether, even though I look paler than usual.

I don't want anyone knowing that I couldn't hold it together once again.

But that's just another wish.

As soon as Finnick looks at me, he knows. He draws his face closer to mine, whispering, "What's wrong?"

I shake my head, saying "Nothing."

But Finnick Odair doesn't take no for an answer.

"Tell me, Annie," he presses, "You know you can."

In response, I pull my eyes away from his—which is somewhat of a difficult task, as he has his way of locking his with mine—and look around us. Everyone is here, and I make it clear that I don't want them to know.

He understands my message.

"Do you want to pay a visit to my room, again, Miss Cresta?" he's winking again.

I can't help but laugh. That's my agreement. We get up at the same time and start to walk away.

"Hey, Odair!" Leena yells. "You don't wanna get in trouble," she says in her usual annoyed voice once he's looking at her.

I remember what Glory told me about them sneaking out. But I really don't know what to think. Finnick and Leena seem like an impossible match to me.

"Oh, don't be jealous, sweetie," he says, rolling his eyes. "Ignore her," he mouths to me.

Like there is anything else I could do.

Inside his room, he gestures me to sit down on the bed. He walks to the same round table I have in my room, but what I don't know about it that it could deliver drinks in just a few seconds. Finnick simply presses some buttons I never noticed and there we go, two glasses of blue drinks with red straws pop out.

Once I sip from it, it doesn't taste like anything blue at all. Not that colors have taste, but I expected it to be somewhat icier. "You like?"

But I don't reply. We sit in silence for what feels like hours. He even plays some music from a little device, in low volume and peaceful, but it seems impossible for me to feel any worse at this moment. What happened to all my wishes? My will to fight? Making the most of what I've got left? I guess this is one of the times when my inside debate has an answer. I'm not sure if I like it.

"Annie," Finnick tries to get me talking. "How was training today?"

I don't even look up, but I begin talking. "Emile asked me and Jer to be her allies in the arena."

I assume that his silence presses me to go on. Whatever the case, I remain mute, presumably that he'd accept the fact I don't want to talk.

"And Emile is from District eight, right?"

That's definitely his way to pull some words out of me. It's working.

"Ten," I correct him.

"Yes, ten. What do you think?"

I look up at him. He's sat comfortably, clearly unbothered by my disinterest for conversation. It's not that I don't want to talk to him; I do, I want to tell him about today, ask for advice. But any minute now, if I keep talking, I'm going to break. I don't want to break again.

"I don't trust her," and my voice is at it's edge of shaking.

Finnick nods his head as if to agree with me. "Yes," he stops for a while, thoughtful. "But do you think she would make a good ally if you did?" He speaks carefully, word by word.

"Yes." The answer comes immediately and without hesitation, marked by sincerity and the desire to assure myself of it.

"I guess you should give her a shot," Finnick replies at length.

I stop stirring my drink with the red slender straw at once. "Give her a shot?" I echo. "To what? Kill me easier? You know it well that there's only one shot I can give her. And that one shot is most likely to murder me much faster!"

"And also a shot that can keep you alive much longer," Finnick comments calmly, earning him a glare, but not a contradiction.

He's right, but so am I. We both know this. But we can't possibly know much anything else that could be used as an argument. So we remain silent for a while. The best we can do is hope for there better, I guess. I'm not sure how much I should rely on my hope, though.

Finnick's watching me. I keep trying to ignore his gaze but I'm unsuccessful.

"So you think Jer and I should accept her offer?" I speak at last.

Finnick bites his lip. "Yes. I don't know about Jer, but you should. It'll be nice knowing there's at least a few people who won't kill you at first."

Won't kill me at first. That's as close as I can possibly get to an assurance of not getting murdered. For a while. Eventually, no matter how much we don't want it, one of us is going to kill the other. At that point, it doesn't matter if we're allies or not.

"And then what?"

"And then you have to be very careful," Finnick replies unhelpfully. "But I've seen the girl. If she wanted you dead as soon as possible she would have joined the Careers, not asked you to be her ally."

"You haven't seen her."

"I haven't?" he retorts in a puzzled expression.

"You said she was from eight. She's from ten," I say boringly, stating the obvious.

Finnick chuckles. "Oh, that," he speaks as if he's forgotten about it completely. "I was just trying to get you talking. I know all your competition. I'm your mentor. It's my job," he's grinning now.

So, I was right when I assumed that.

But, then again, reading people has always been an easy task for me. Even though Finnick is somewhat difficult.

I'm quiet again, and so is he. We both sip from our drinks, not looking at each other.

"Why were you crying?" he wants to know.

I look up at him, smiling faintly, but that's the best of an reply I can manage before I start crying once again. It's not long before he wraps his arms around me and pulls me in a tight embrace. I respond within seconds, but I cry even harder. I cry until I realize that I don't want him to see me like this; I don't want anyone to see me like this. I don't want to be like this.

Pulling away, I ignore his gaze. But I get lonely, so I hug a pillow, but that doesn't help, so I hug my legs, but that's even worse and then, desperately, I fall into his chest again. Hugging him tightly, I sob loudly. He doesn't protest. He pats my back affectionately with his one hand, the other one pressed on my waist.

I don't cry for much longer, but we stay in that position for a while.

Maybe I would have felt stupid if my thoughts would stop racing. I always feel stupid when I cry in front of people. And maybe it's much better that I don't, as feeling stupid is not quite desirable during my last short days. I've been crying a lot lately.

"I ruined your shirt," I mumble after some time.

Finnick laughs and pulls away so we can face each other. "It'll get over it," he jokes.

But that's as far as the joking gets.

"You can survive, Annie," he tells me seriously. "You know it, don't you?"

I'm sure face grows pale. I don't answer for several seconds, and I stare off into space, as though thinking very deeply about my reply. But that's unnecessary. I know the answer already. "No," I say at last. "I don't think so."

Finnick breathes, and then elaborates with unconquerable satisfaction. "Right, you don't think so, you know it. And I have to make sure you do."

I can tell he's trying to get me positive.

"It's alright, Finnick," I say, honestly. "I don't need to know that. It's fine."

And for some reason, he allows it to that.

"Alright, Miss Cresta. You can have it your way, this time," there is amusement on his face, "but you have to tell me how you want to spend the rest of this day. Something that would cheer you up."

At home. By the beach. On my backyard's bench. At my friend's house. At District's 4 square. Down the boats. Even at school. Anywhere but here, doing anything. That's where.

But how? I don't know.

What could I possibly do? I have no idea what would cheer me up at this point. I know I want to be happy, even though it'd be just for a little while. I'm okay with that.

At loss of a real reply, I state the obvious, "At home. Laughing and hugging everyone."

We both know that's impossible.

"I want that too," his smile is honest. His hand finds it's way to my cheek and I wince in surprise by his touch, but he leaves it there. "How about we try to make it feel like home, here, eh?"

That's also impossible.

He knows what I'm thinking. "It's worth a shot."

I give in, as arguing would not only be pointless but also a little bit mean. I start nodding in agreement.

"How can we do that?" I wonder.

"I can arrange something," he says. "Just close your eyes, I'll tell you when to open them."

But instead, they widen, and I look at him suspiciously.

"Oh, come on! Close them!"

And at last, at his insisting, I do. I hear him stand up and rush to his drawers. I hear noises, but I the only thing I can detect for sure is sea shells by the noise the make once he puts them down close to me. And, of course, the sound of waves. They seem so real. I don't open my eyes until he tells me to do, and that's soon enough.

He has dimmed the light to what could be mistaken as moonlight. Somehow, he made the ceiling look like the real sky. There were sea shells all around me. The little device that played music before imitates the sound of waves. And it almost truly feels like home.

He hands me a rope. We both tie knots in silence, enjoying the atmosphere.

Just what I'd be doing right now if I were home. Definitely this.

So I let it overwhelm me. I don't think, I don't do anything but give in. Pretend. Appreciate. This is one of the things I always will, no matter how long always can last for me. This is just what I need. Maybe it wasn't on my list of things I want, but it should have been.

"Thank you," I say after a long, long time. We've probably been at this for hours now.

He wraps one arm around me. "Thank you," he echoes.

I open my mouth to say something else, but he cuts me off before I can do so. "We'll talk tomorrow," he assures me, "let's just enjoy this as it is tonight, okay?"

I don't know how to react, so I just let it be. I let myself enjoy every second of every minute. And, right now, I know that my luck hasn't left me entirely. It's here. I'm lucky to be happy again; I am right now. Just for a little while. I'm lucky to have made another friend. He may have not been one at home, but he still is home. He's been through everything I am going through. It's the best friend I could have a gotten. He understands. He wants to help me. He's Finnick. At a situation like this, I couldn't have been luckier.

I leave the talking for tomorrow as he requested.

The days in Capitol seem to be lasting extremely short, though.


End file.
